


Breaking Point

by YanderexBabydoll



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bullying, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jealousy, Possessive Behavior, Red String of Fate, Underage Drinking, Yandere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:40:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26990794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YanderexBabydoll/pseuds/YanderexBabydoll
Summary: The first time you meet your soulmates, you're seven years old. It's all downhill from there.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Reader, Miya Osamu/Reader
Comments: 43
Kudos: 451





	Breaking Point

The first time you met your soulmates, you were seven years old. 

Seven years old, standing on the sidewalk out the front of your new house in a pretty pink dress, you remember the insistent tug at your pinky fingers, the feeling of the two red threads you’d had tied around you since birth pulling taut. 

At that young, tender age, you only had the barest understanding of those threads and what they truly meant; invisible to everybody but you and them, they would lead you to the two people you were going to love forever and ever. Your soulmates.

Butterflies flitted about your stomach, a smile stretching across your face as you followed the glittering threads to find two dark haired boys roughly your age, playing with a volleyball in their driveway, each with a thread - _your_ thread - tied tight around their little pinkies.

Brothers, you guessed, maybe even twins with their matching features, one just a little taller than the other. You can’t quite remember exactly what happened next, you might have called out in your excitement, or maybe they’d felt the same tugging sensation around their fingers that you had, but just as one tossed the ball, the other turned to stare at you, eyes wide and startled.

It was an accident, even now you’re positive of that much. Having lost focus for a split second, when his peripherals caught sight of the ball careening towards him, his hand had come up to deflect on sheer instinct.

Which, funnily enough, sent the ball rocketing towards you. More specifically your face.

The _thwack_ was resounding. 

It wasn’t how you expected your first meeting with your soulmates to go, but you were seven years old, and naturally, you did what any seven year old girl would do after taking a volleyball (even one without much force behind it) directly to the face.

You burst into tears.

And you can’t remember which of them tossed the ball and which of them spiked it, but you remember the look of shock on their faces, shock that slowly morphed into something much less forgiving; disgust. 

“Such’a crybaby. Let’s go ‘Samu,” one of them muttered, grabbing his brother’s arm and pulling him back towards their house.

Your soulmates left you crying on the sidewalk, so you kept their volleyball out of spite.

Unsurprisingly, your relationship with the twins - Atsumu and Osamu - didn’t really improve from there.

Your parents were sure that it was just childish reluctance. You were _seven_. Girls had cooties and boys were stupid and gross at that age - love, much less a bond as deep and profound as the soulmate one, wasn’t really on the agenda. 

“Mark my words, sweetie. One day those boys are gonna look at you and suddenly, everything’ll just _click_ ,” your dad had told you with a knowing smile. “They won’t be able to stop themselves from loving you.”

But that magical moment never happened, not for the twins and not for you. 

_They_ were the ones who alternated between ignoring you and pulling your pigtails and pushing you into puddles as kids.

They were the ones to corner you when you all started middle school and make you _swear_ not to tell anybody that you were their soulmate. They couldn’t even say the damn word, skirting around it like it was poison. (It’s not like you were dying to tell anybody anyway.)

And they were the ones who started dating other girls and flaunting it in front of you and everybody else the moment you hit high school.

But you, _you_ were the one who decided not to let any of that affect you. Maybe the universe fucked up with you, maybe your threads got mixed up by mistake, or maybe they didn’t.

It didn’t _matter._

Strangely enough, it was the only thing the three of you ever really seemed to agree on. The red threads of fate that bound the three of you together - you didn’t want them, and as far as you could tell, neither did they. 

You weren’t soulmates and you certainly weren’t friends (they’d made absolutely sure of that much). The Miya twins might as well be strangers - irritating ones - but strangers nonetheless, and that was perfectly okay with you.

And you suppose in a way, it should have broken your heart, to be rejected by the two people who were supposed to love you more than life itself, but instead you found it… kind of freeing, to be honest. You could go anywhere, do anything, fall in love with somebody that you _chose_ , rather than two people the universe had randomly decided to stick you with. 

Your life wouldn’t be dictated by the whims of two rude, selfish, arrogant assholes, and that was the best gift your soulmates could have possibly given you.

While it’d never been spoken aloud, you’d been under the distinct impression that you were all in agreement on that. 

Until senior year, that is.

***

“I promise it’ll be fun!”

You eyed our best friend suspiciously, a single eyebrow raised. “So you’re _not_ gonna ditch me and spend the entire night making out on the couch with Suna like last time, then?”

Silence was damning, as was the flush that tinted her cheeks pink. “In my defence, he is a wickedly good kisser,” she said after a beat. “But ya have to come! Please? You’re gonna regret it if you don’t.”

You highly doubt that, but one look into those pleading, puppy dog eyes and you feel your resolve starting to waver. It wasn’t like she was your only friend who was planning on going, and maybe it would be nice to let loose a little. 

So what if the party was to celebrate the Inarizaki volleyball team winning the prefecture playoffs. You spent five days a week in the same class as those two idiots and you managed just fine, what difference would a party make?

By the time you arrive at the new captain’s house, the party’s in full swing, music thumping so loud that you can feel the echo of the bass in your heart. A red solo cup finds its way into your hands, and you shoot your friend a pointed look.

“What?” she says, a picture of innocence, “we’re third years now. Yer eighteen, that’s the legal age somewhere! And we’re here ta’ have fun, right?”

You’re here because she dragged you, but you laugh and tip the cup back, swallowing down the spiked punch with a grin. “Sure, why not?”

The moment you set foot through the door the thread wrapped around your finger tightens, tugging insistently. You’re used to ignoring it - eleven years of practice will do that to you - but there’s little you can do to avoid it when your friend just happens to be leading you in that general direction anyway. 

Sure enough, the two of you stumble across him sucking face with the pretty brunette you recognised from the cheer squad straddling his lap. Dark eyes flicker open as you try to subtly squeeze past and Atsumu doesn’t stop kissing the girl, but as she moans, fingers running through dyed blonde locks, like magnets attracting, those hooded eyes find yours and for a single, split second you feel it.

That spark of electricity that jolts through your heart, the pleasant tingling that flows right to your fingertips… 

And then the asshole smirks, and you come hurtling back down to earth.

He wants a reaction, you know he does - god only knew why, after all this time - but you’ve been playing this game long enough that it just doesn’t phase you anymore. You simply roll your eyes, taking another swig from your cup and following your friend as she deftly weaves through the swarm of half drunk high school seniors. 

“Doesn’t it bother ya?” she asks after a moment. There’s an edge to her voice, an uncharacteristic hardness in her eyes as she regards you, but you simply shrug.

“Atsumu is free to make out with whoever he wants to,” you remind her. _He’s not mine_. 

“… I still think he’s a dick. They both are.”

“No arguments here,” you laugh. 

As you predicted, it doesn’t take long for her to find her boyfriend, and you wave her half hearted apologies off with amusement as Suna grabs her wrist and tugs her off into some dark, deserted corner of his friend’s house.

The punch is strong - even more so when a guy you vaguely recognise from the other classes comes by with a bottle of vodka and tops up your half empty cup with a wink and a roguish grin - and it’s all too easy to lose yourself to the music, to forget about Atsumu and the girl from the cheer squad, about Osamu (no doubt hidden somewhere amongst the crowd), about everything. You’re pleasantly buzzed, dancing with your other classmates, when there’s a tap on your shoulder.

You spin, stumbling slightly, to find yourself face to face with a familiar - and handsome - figure, one you dimly registered as belonging to Seiji Takanori; the captain of the Inarizaki boys soccer team, and the very _last_ person you expected to see at this party.

“Well, hey there,” he says, honey hazel eyes sweeping across your form with a cocky sort of half smirk that makes your cheeks warm just a touch. “I think ya should come dance with me, sweetheart.”

You quirk a single eyebrow, “Oh, you do, do you?”

He nods, “Yep,” he says, popping the ‘P’. “Ya see, my friends over there,” his thumb jerks over his shoulder, and you follow the line to see three other guys from the soccer team watching you two with barely concealed mirth, “bet me twenty bucks that I wouldn’t be able to get ya to say yes to a dance, and I am _unbelievably_ broke right now, so you’d really be doin’ me a favour if ya did.” There’s a glimmer of something mischievous in his eyes, and you think that he might be joking with you. 

Takanori’s attractive, fit, reasonably popular, and he’s pretty damn charming when he wants to be, which begs the question, “Why’d they pick me?” 

If he makes some stupid quip about picking the ugliest girl at the party, you’re committed to throwing the rest of your drink in his face - social suicide or not. 

But he grins widely, as if he expected the question, “Well, maybe they know that I have a weakness for pretty girls, so they thought they’d pick only one who’d probably turn me down.”

You frown, the compliment washing right over you in favour of the latter half of his sentence, “And why do they think I’d turn you down?”

“Heard ‘a rumour, somethin’ about you bein’ the Miya twins’ girl,” he pauses, his gaze drifting behind you, “but I figure that’s some A-grade bullshit.”

Slowly, as if in a daze, you glance down at your pinky and follow the red thread through the crowd. Sure enough, a few feet away you spy Osamu, deep in conversation with one of his teammates, his arm casually slung around another girl’s waist.

Your thread wrapped around the finger that brushes at her side.

Something unpleasant twists at your gut.

Despite being in the same class as them since elementary school, you do a remarkable job of pretending that the Miya twins simply don’t exist. 

You don’t talk to them at school, ignoring the stares that you sometimes feel burning into your back, the snarky comments whispered under their breath _just_ loud enough for you - and you alone - to hear. You refuse to rise to their bait, to acknowledge that they in any way exist - for two people who supposedly want nothing to do with you, they sure do love winding you up, trying to pull reactions out of you as if it’s their sole purpose in life. You avoid anything volleyball related like it’s plague, tonight’s party being an exception, and you’re only here now because your best friend’s dating their middle blocker. They still live in the same house across the street from you, and on the days they don’t have training you make it a habit to dawdle on your way out, just so you won’t accidentally run into them on the walk home.

From the outside looking in, there is absolutely nothing between the three of you - which is exactly how you want it.

So how the hell Takanori managed to get an idea like that in his head is _beyond_ you, but-

“I’m not the Miya twins’ _anything_.”

Takanori grins, “Then ya got no reason to turn me down, pretty girl.”

And maybe it’s the alcohol flowing through your blood masking itself as confidence, maybe you’re just a bit pissed off at the insinuation that the twins have any kind of ownership over you, or maybe it’s just because Seiji Takanori is ridiculously hot, but you take his hand and let him pull you close as the song changes.

Time blurs a little, dancing turns into something else entirely; hands wandering, touching, _teasing_ , and when he flips you around and seizes your lips in a bold kiss, you find yourself returning it eagerly, your stomach filling with butterflies. 

And when he breathlessly asks if you want _more,_ his pupils blown wide and swimming with lust, you nod and let him take you by the hand and lead you up the stairs.

With his fingers prying pieces of clothes off of you, you don’t feel the insistent tug around your pinky. You’re too focused on the hungry look in Takanori’s eyes as he lays you down almost gently on the bed that you miss the second pull - on your other hand this time. Firmer. Nerves knot at your stomach as he spreads your legs and settles between them, asking you one last time if you’re _sure_ that you want this - want him.

“Yes,” you breathe.

He steals your lips in a kiss as he takes your virginity with one languid thrust. The room’s warm, or maybe it’s just him, and there’s an odd feeling in the pit of your stomach as he fucks you, deep and slow with rolling hips and stuttered moans, but you shut your eyes and will it away. If Atsumu can make out with beautiful girls and Osamu wants to flaunt every last meaningless fling, then you can have this - even if it’s just once.

Your legs are hiked up over his hips, one hand running down the toned planes of his chest, the other teasing at your own breast when the door to the bedroom you’re in bursts open. You shriek, but Takanori doesn’t even pause, grabbing one of the throw pillows on the bed and chucking it blindly towards the disturbance, “Get the fuck out,” he growls.

There’s no sign of movement, no sounds to indicate that the interloper’s left. It’s only when you feel another pull around your finger that you hesitantly glance over the soccer captain’s broad shoulders. Standing in the doorway, face expressionless - eerily so - is Osamu. He doesn’t say a word, but as Takanori drags another moan from your lips those brown eyes narrow, a muscle in his jaw tightening.

You open your mouth - to call out to him? To say something to the guy whose dick is currently balls deep inside of you? - but before you can even get a sound out, Takanori’s grabbing your chin and tilting your head back in for another kiss.

Distantly you register the sound of the door closing and footsteps receding, but the pit in your stomach lingers in his wake.

***

It’s only a few days later that you arrive at school to find everybody milling around the hallways, whispering amongst themselves.

“Did something happen?” you ask your friend, grabbing out your textbooks and shoving your bag into your locker.

“Oh my god! How did ya not hear?” she says, slapping your arm with wide eyes. 

“Hear what?”

She leans in close, “Ya know the captain of the soccer team? The really hot one?” 

You choke on your spit a little, covering it up with a cough as your cheeks warm somewhat guiltily. You still haven’t told her what happened between the two of you that night at the party, and for the life of you - you don’t know why. “What about him?”

“Apparently some teacher found a bunch’a weed and stuff in his locker. The VP found out an’ kicked him out!”

“Out of the soccer club?” It was pretty much common knowledge that Takanori was on track for a full scholarship ride through university, if he got kicked out of the club and it got out that drugs were the reason why, he could kiss any hope of that goodbye. It would utterly destroy him. Soccer was his life, even you knew that.

“Out of school. Like _gone_.”

“Shit, really?” She nods her head excitedly. “Huh.”

You don’t really know what else to say. You’d awkwardly slipped away after he’d crashed that night, and you hadn’t seen or heard from him at all since then. But it wasn’t like you were friends or anything, you barely knew him, but still… 

“Why were they even looking in the first place?” you ask, nibbling on your bottom lip. Technically the school had the right to randomly search any of their lockers whenever they want, but you’ve never heard of them actually enforcing it. 

She shrugs, “Who knows? Guess he wasn’t the Mr Perfect that everybody thought he was.” Her phone beeps, and she glances down to read the message - one that you can only guess is from Suna, judging from the way her cheeks turn pink and a grin tugs at the corners of her lips. “I gotta run, but I’ll catch ya for lunch, yeah?”

“Say hi to Suna for me,” you say with a laugh as she salutes and darts off. 

Shaking your head, you turn to shut your own locker, failing to notice the figures propped up against the wall, watching you with matching scowls. 

The text comes through halfway through third period english.

_Promised I’d watch Rintarou play at lunch… pls come save me from boredom._

A crinkle appears between your brows, you suppose you shouldn’t be too surprised that she’s trying to make a bit more of an effort now that they’re not just fooling around - and you have a sneaking suspicion that she actually enjoys watching him play, but dragging you along with her…

Keeping half an eye on your teacher, busy writing notes up on the whiteboard at the front of the class, you type out a quick reply:

_You don’t need me there to make heart eyes at your boyfriend._

Twenty seconds later, your phone buzzes again.

_If you loved me, you’d come :(_

Shaking your head in frustration, you bite back a sigh. It’s a wonder that you try at all, you’ll always end up giving into her and you both know it. 

There’s a pointed throat clearing in front of you, and you quickly shove your phone back in your pocket, straightening up in your seat. Your teacher isn’t looking at you, but you can tell by the purse of her lips that she isn’t happy. 

“If I see one more phone out for the rest of the lesson, I’ll confiscate it.”

Thankfully, yours doesn’t go off again for the rest of the period. 

It’s just a game, you tell yourself instead of focusing on the conjugations in front of you - they’ll be playing the entire time. Forty minutes of them showing off, making stupid jokes, mocking their underclassmen and bickering amongst themselves. 

You can take your homework, try and get some studying done. It’ll be fine.

So why does your chest tighten and your heart race every time you hear those familiar drawls behind you?

***

You had seen them play - just once, in your second year. It was a practice match with another school in the prefecture. You’d known they were good at volleyball, they both had a dedicated fanbase within the student body. For the amount of time they spent training; eating, drinking and breathing volleyball, you’d certainly hope they were at least somewhat decent at the sport - if only for their own sakes. 

But you hadn’t really understood it until that moment, watching them leap into the sky, soaring away from each other. The way the ball had danced from Osamu’s fingertips, flying towards Atsumu who hit it as if it were _nothing_ , slamming it down over the net. It happened in a split second, too fast for the other team to comprehend, much less have a hope in hell of stopping, and you remember the collective gasp from around you. Goosebumps prickled at your skin. Whispers about a setter spiking, a time delay difference - it went right over your head, but you remember the grace with which they fell back to earth, the look they shared between themselves before they both turned to look up at you. Half your grade was sitting in the stands, yet their eyes had found yours like you were the only one in the audience.

It was electric - the building could have burst into flames around you and you wouldn’t have been able to tear your eyes away.

Neither of them had spoken, and you wouldn’t have heard them over the raucous cheering around you even if they had, but the smug look in their eyes said it all.

 _Are ya watching? See what we can do?_

You vowed not to go to their games after that.

And yet here you are, reluctantly trudging towards the gym with an arm full of notebooks, highlighters and pens. Technically it wasn’t a game, just practice, but it hardly made a difference. 

You chalk your racing heart up to the twin red threads stretched out before you. You’ve made a habit over the years of avoiding them altogether; looking at them, acknowledging them and certainly following them. 

And maybe it’s because you’re so focused on pretending those glimmering, red strands don’t exist that you don’t notice the lack of noise coming from the gym until you’re standing at the entryway. There should be voices, the sound of shoes squeaking against the vinyl floors, the familiar reverberations of balls ricocheting off the court, but it’s silent. When you tentatively push open the doors, they swing wide, but there’s nobody inside - not your friend, not Suna, not a single player. It’s eerily empty.

But the gym was unlocked and the lights are on, so somebody has to be around?

You forget, for one moment, about the threads that you’d inadvertently followed here. With a sigh, you make your way across the court towards the stands, trying to awkwardly balance your books as you fish your phone out of your pocket. 

Maybe the team’s still getting changed or something.

_Where are you? Nobody’s here lol._

You hit send. 

A familiar chime echoes out behind you, and you spin-

Just as the lights flicker off, plunging the gym into darkness. 

The scream that tears its way up your throat is instinctual, but the rough, calloused hand that clamps over your mouth smothers it quickly enough. The books and phone in your hands are knocked to the floor as you're dragged back against a lean body.

Warm breath ghosts over your neck as you struggle fruitlessly against the strong arm that anchors around your waist. “Settle down, sweetheart. It’s just us,” a voice laughs.

Osamu.

Your first instinct is to relax into his hold, but it’s quickly overridden by a flash of anger sparking deep inside of you. Another tug around your pinky, and you vaguely register another dark shape walking towards you. “Yeah, remember us, baby? Yer _loving soulmates_?”

The first time you kissed another boy, you were fifteen years old. It was barely any even a kiss - a brushing of lips together, a hint of a bashful tongue, but to you it was the greatest thing to ever happen. A momentous occasion you’d gushed about to your best friend.

Somehow news of your first kiss made it back to Atsumu. 

You didn’t expect him to care. He’d never said it in as many words, but he didn’t have to. You don’t hurt people you love, and Atsumu seemed to get particular enjoyment out of making you cry. 

You were used to snarky Atsumu, teasing Atsumu, cocky, arrogant, can’t-keep-his-stupid-mouth-shut Atsumu.

 _Angry_ Atsumu was something entirely new. You remember the way he shoved you up against the lockers, his shaking hands fisted in your shirt. You remember being scared of him for the first time in your life. He hadn’t hurt you - not physically, but the way he spat and snarled like some kind of a wild animal, eyes wide and burning in their intensity… he could have. You knew that even then. 

And over the sound of your terrified heart pounding in your chest, your pulse pounding in your eardrums as he shook you, most of his tirade was white noise. He was angry, and you were scared and crying and you didn’t understand _why_ \- 

And then, out of nowhere, Osamu had appeared at your side. 

He’d barely spared you a glance, just grabbed Atsumu by the shoulder and ripped him away. The words to his brother were hissed in a whisper too quiet for you to hear, but you caught Atsumu’s bitter reply - part of it at least.

“- _fucking soulmate!_ ”

It was the first time you’d ever heard either of them say the word out loud - acknowledged the bond between you three. 

It’s a far cry from the mocking coo he gives you now, strong fingers gripping your jaw and tilting your head to face him. “Didja have fun, baby, fuckin’ that asshole?”

“Ya tryna make us jealous?” 

In the dark, with two warm bodies pressed up close, a hand drifting teasingly along the hem of your pleated skirt, another snaking up beneath your shirt you’re glad that they can’t see the tears that well up and spill down your cheeks as they greedily grope and explore your body. But it’s not until you feel something unmistakably _hard_ grinding up against the swell of your ass that panic truly sets in. You writhe against Osamu’s iron hold, flushing when a low, husky moan sounds at your ear. “Such a fuckin’ tease. You’re lucky we love ya so damn much.”

This isn’t love.

“D-don’t touch me,” you stutter, trying to stamp your foot down onto his, but the fingers on your jaw tighten warningly, and your attention is dragged unwittingly back to his twin in front of you. 

“Aw, sweetheart. You’re _really_ not in a position to be makin’ demands right now.”

His fingers drift upwards, sliding between your thighs, and Atsumu laughs when you stiffen as he cups your panty covered sex.

“Please, please, just wait, I-I don’t want-”

Your panicked protests are cut off by Atsumu’s lips pressing hungrily against yours, and you can’t help but shudder as a wet, hot tongue delves into your mouth. Yet it’s the pair of teeth that nip at your earlobe, the low, possessive growl that reverberates through the chest pressed against your back that makes you want to _sob_.

“You don’t have a damn fuckin’ clue what ya want. But that’s just fine, baby, we know what ya need,” Osamu tells you. He nuzzles at your neck, and you feel the smirk at his lips as he trails them along the curve of your throat, “Should’a done this months ago, but you’ve been such a stubborn little brat, haven’t ya? Playin’ all hard to get when ya know deep down yer _ours_.”

He sucks at the tender skin while his brother continues to ravage your mouth. 

“Our _soulmate_.”

Your shirt rips under rough, impatient hands, buttons scattering across the gym floor.

“Ours to _fuck_.”

The clinking of a belt buckle being undone is deafening amongst the panting breaths and quiet whimpers.

“Ours to _keep._ ”

At the bold declaration Atsumu finally breaks for air, sucking on your bottom lip as he pulls away. He shifts, drawing himself closer, and maybe it’s a trick of the dim light, but as he cups your cheek with a mocking tenderness and grins, you swear that you catch a glint of something lovesick and _twisted_ in those eyes.

“We’re gonna ruin ya, sweet thing.”


End file.
